it's over. move to somnia.

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Popular

How did I suddenly become popular? The last two weeks I've practically begged people to hang out with me, and now that I'm attempting to get my shit together and take off for points east in the next two days, suddenly I've got people asking me to go bowling/climbing/eating/dancing/walking/eating (again)/etc., and I can't say no.

People! I am confused!
peachy as always, Mike at 2:37 PM

 
I apologize for the lack of updates. I've been busy with attending an international careers symposium, applying to grad school, and planning my month-long road trip.
(I'm going on a month-long road trip, in my recently-acquired car.)
(I recently acquired a car, thanks to my parents' casting off the not-new.)
(Thanks to my parents also for helping prepare me for the trip.)

Your devotion deserves a reward: here's a little nugget-o-fun until I get organized.

Diplomacy: The Art of Telling Someone to Go to Hell in Such a Manner That the Person Actually Looks Forward to the Trip

At the international careers symposium I attended in Berkeley, there was a Q&A with representatives of various organizations that offer international internships. One of them was from the State Department, which I found especially fortuitous, seeing as I was (and am still) in the midst of applying for an embassy internship with them for next summer. One thing had me a little curious, though: the program requires that interns be continuing their studies immediately following the internship. My plan, to intern next summer and then begin a master's program in the fall, conforms to this requirement; however, as I am not currently a student, I wondered if there were any special steps I'd need to take in order to demonstrate my student status once I find out.

So I asked.

"The State Department does not require any proof of continuing enrollment," the representative stated. "We don't have the resources to check." Fair enough. Clear enough.

Perhaps intrigued by my question, another potential intern mentioned that she would be graduating in the spring and would like to intern in the summer, but she did not have any immediate plans to apply for graduate school--meaning she may not be a continuing student after the internship. The representative reiterated the facts: "While continuing student status is a requirement, the deadline is November 1, by which time you would not have received acceptances to any graduate programs you may be applying to. We are unable to follow up on you and check whether you will be enrolled following the internship." Wow, OK, that's pretty damn generous.

Then--this being Berkeley--three other students, in turn, each asked that same question, again. I have to give the representative his share of credit for civilly explaining the (abundantly clear?) situation each time, because I think I would have lost it after repeating myself once. The last student to ask kept pressing the question to the point that I started to imagine pressing her head in a vise until all the air came out. Once she was satisfied with his answer (the same answer he'd given four times already, let's recall) as an edge of disgust was creeping into his voice, I was able to relax. Sort of.

Unfortunately, I got on the elevator with her a few minutes later. She was chattering to a friend in that proud and knowing tone that always accompanies ignorance, culminating in the declaration: "I didn't get it at first, but I figured out he was totally telling us to lie!"

I didn't say anything, but I'm sure I practically radiated hate waves. My mind was so clear: You are applying for a diplomatic post. Diplomacy is ALL ABOUT picking up on the encoded messages in polite statements and passing information discreetly. You are dead in the water. Shut up and go away.

On the up side, I'm much less concerned about the competition: 3,000 applications for 900 posts. If she's the standard, I have nothing to worry about.
peachy as always, Mike at 5:13 AM

 
What I Did During the Second Full Week of My Fall Vacation by Mike, Age 24.5

Item #1: My parents called up to say they'd bought a new car, a Honda CR-V, which means that they now have three cars between the two of them and would I like to take the well-worn Jeep off their hands? I hesitated at first, since I am defiant about living car-free, it's hard to park around here, I don't want to be responsible for its defacement blah blah blah...wait a minute! I could do that driving cross-country thing that seems so popular with the kids today! And check out various graduate programs while I'm at it! (Hmmm, maybe I'd better pick the car up before then, so I can run some errands here in town. And go out hiking and exploring. And stay out in SF after midnight.) The only snag is that I don't want to leave until after the Berkeley International Affairs Graduate School Fair (see below) next week... Then I'm going to a wedding on November 10... Thanksgiving is November 21... well, crap. That doesn't give me any more than two free weeks at a time until December. Not a good time to check out Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Item #2: Last week I shadowed my (now ex-)roommate* Sarah, who is in the master's program in public policy at Berkeley. I was curious; I have a tendency to discount something out-of-hand if the name of it sounds too dry to me, but I had an inkling it might be of interest. It was, but what most captivated me was the lunchtime discussion group on international affairs, which is apparently a sorely-missed (by some students) part of the policy/governance landscape. I did a little more background research and reflected on my desire for a deeper political and economic education, and I thought to myself: International Affairs! Of course! Here I'd been thinking about doing a master's in geography (because it's safe and familiar), but wanted something with a more professional orientation, and it was right under my nose! I checked out APSIA and grew more intrigued. I told Sarah about my revelation and she replied, "It makes perfect sense for you! It's like the marriage of geography and public policy!" And damned if interdisciplinary isn't my middle name! So I'm fairly excited that Berkeley is hosting a whole mess of events next week to do with international careers and graduate programs.

Item #3: I've spent entirely too much time online as of late, reading and posting to forums discussing things like music trivia, cultural literacy, and other silly pursuits. (See if you can figure out who I am!)

Item #4: Yoga! Iyengar and Ashtanga! Different styles! Different instructors! One of whom was like a drill sergeant! During whose class I somehow injured my back! Which now hurts like hell! Fucker!

Item #5: I've gone to some of the SF Open Studios: for three weekends in October every year, the approximately five billion artists in San Francisco open the doors to their studios and the public gets to see and buy work from up-and-coming avant-gardistes. I would love to get involved in the art community somehow, but I just don't know where to start.

Item #6: I've expanded my cinematic horizons and watched Rashomon and American Mullet on the big screen. Each is compelling in its way.

Item #7: Just, you know, hanging out. Going out. Talking to people. I went to a party Saturday night and met my roommate's friend's coworker's college friend, who happens to also be my ex-roommate's girlfriend's classmate (as well as my ex-roommate's high-school friend's ex-girlfriend). For those keeping score of degrees of separation (DOS) at home, that would be Mike-Rex-Will-Henry-Cindy; Mike-Albert-Debbi-Cindy; and Mike-Albert-Martin-Cindy.


* It was kind of sad: she had just gotten settled into the house, but her girlfriend and her commute necessitated that she move to a solo apartment closer to campus--in the middle of the semester. Talk about tough.
peachy as always, Mike at 5:37 PM

 
Funsies!

While biking along the SF Embarcadero just past twilight a few days back, I noticed that there are a lot of people who like to go running (a) along a bike path (b) after dark (c) while wearing black. @$*(!%# morons.

I think what I want to study is International Affairs, with a concentration in migration. (Who, me? Decide?)

My parents called up yesterday to mention that they're getting a new car, which means they'll have one left over and would I like to use it? Perhaps for a cross-country drive in the near future? Oh, hell yeah.

The House just may be all filled up soon. Sarah's leaving, but there's a Kevin moving in the weekend, and a recently-interviewed Meredith just might hop in and complete the place.

Being unemployed does not mean having all the time in the world. I've been able to exercise...twice this week.

Navel-gazing really cramps my back.
peachy as always, Mike at 5:42 PM

 
Mike's Unemployment Semary: A Week in My Jobless Life
[an asterisk (*) marks those anecdotes of more than passing interest]

Tuesday, 1 Oct___

Paper Chase. Spent the morning watching Psycho Beach Party (it's so good, it defies description) and sifting through the many piles of papers that have piled up in my room. In piles. I tend to bring home every single sheet of paper (fliers, newspapers, cookie fortunes, etc.) I acquire throughout the day and rarely throw anything out, so it gets to be something of a mess. My roommate Dawn came in at one point and immediately noticed the still-sealed bills in my "important" pile. "You don't open your mail?" she asked, shocked. No, I don't. It's a bad habit. I come home late, I'm tired, I check the mailbox, everything goes on the pile. I get to it later. I recently missed a wedding shower and missed a credit-card payment due to this heinous practice. End of story. But rent Psycho Beach Party, available only in independent video stores.

Housecleaning. It was my turn. As much fun to describe as to perform.

Email Purge. Related to the aforementioned lazy tendency, I have a backlog of 600 messages in my Yahoo! account and have been precariously close to my 6 MB limit. So I've been going through and deleting everything that is no longer of any importance, concurrently updating my address book (I always meant to...) with various people's announcements. Have we established I am lazy, shiftless, and inclined to procrastinate? Good. Let's move on.

Sangria. Met my co-concertgoer (see below) and some of my ex-coworkers at Andalu, a (fairly schmancy) tapas bar for happy hour. Nothing really remarkable, except that the hostess muttered "Table for six, without reservations!" after we walked in. Oh, honestly: it's 6 o'clock on a Tuesday and the place is empty. Please. The sangria was great. Go for the drinks, ignore the service.

Bottom of the Hill. Went with Marie to a smallish concert headlined by +/-, which those of you who have been reading know is a spinoff of Versus, recent holder of Most Favored Band status in these here parts. The opening band, eE, were unremarkable apart from being composed of fairly meek-looking Asian guys--at the end of their set, the bassist yelled "Support the Asians! Buy our album!"--and having the hardest-working drummer this side of Cowboy Mouth (whom I did not see yesterday, but whatcha gonna do?).

*Homeward Bound. The show ended just after midnight, and I happened to get to the BART station two or three minutes after the last East Bay train left. I will never understand the logic in the BART schedule (everything must end by 12:30!), which effectively eliminates transbay transit after midnight and virtually ensures that drunk drivers are on the Bay Bridge every weekend. Luckily, I guess, there's one other option: take Muni to San Francisco's Transbay Terminal (TT, baby!) and wait for the hourly AC Transit A-line bus, which then deposits passengers in downtown Oakland to find the rest of the way home for themselves.

Whereas daytime buses stop inside the Terminal, the A-line stops in a crescent-shaped driveway out front...the better to underscore your late-night misery. Pass by the TT between 1 and 4 on any given night, and you'll see a dozen or two forlorn-looking creatures waiting for that bus. It's cold. Everyone's tired. Not a pleasant milieu. With half an hour to wait, I elected to go inside to look at the transit maps. Yes, I am both a transit nerd and a map nerd; I am quite aware of it. Thank you.

Returning outside, I was greeted by three police cars, an ambulance, and a large pool of blood on the sidewalk. The bus arrived a couple of minutes laterand the woman across the aisle filled me in: "This crazy man, white or Hispanic--I couldn't tell--was sitting on the bench with a whole load of stuff and a bicycle next to him. This other man--black guy--comes up to him and asks whose bike it is, since he wants to move it aside and sit down. The first guy flips out and pulls a knife from out of nowhere and stabs the other guy in the neck!" I froze, yet continued to listen to her talk about how, if she's out walking late at night, normally she goes out of her way to avoid passing black men but will walk right by a white man without a second thought, though she knows as a black woman that it's not right. (I later relay this tidbit to a black female friend who immediately concurs.) She and I ended up sharing a cab from downtown Oakland to our respective homes. I try to watch Happy Together.

Wednesday, 2 Oct___

Movietime. It takes me an hour to bike from my house to downtown Berkeley, drop off videos, and bike back home.

*Contra Costa Times. I had arranged to spend the afternoon with my friend Gary, who is interning with the City of Pittsburg. We had, until my resignation, been employed at very different places in the urban planning spectrum and I was curious to see what he was doing and had learned. We met at Concord BART (ah, BART) at noon, and for the next six hours he showed me around Concord, Pleasant Hill, Martinez, Pittsburg, Bay Point, and Antioch, delivering a seemingly unending stream of information about what was going on where, who the major players were, what sneaky deals were being made, and what he'd seen and dealt with. Simultaneously I'm amazed by how much information he has absorbed over the past year and annoyed at how little I felt I'd learned in my position. Partly it's the nature of consulting, where one's attentions are divided among many clients (City of X; Y County; Metropolitan Z Authority), none of which one can feel proprietary about. But part of it is also that as a lower-level consultant, I was rarely the one in contact with the community. Crunching abstract numbers and making up descriptions of locations I had not seen did nothing for me. It makes more sense now, but in college I majored in geography with the idea that I would be out in the field, observing for myself.

Still, we had a good time. We stopped at an Afghan bakery, where he paid $1.50 for a loaf of bread the size of...well, an afghan. We rolled through new subdivisions still under construction, feeling the bizarre unwelcomeness of an uninhabited-yet-exclusive-"community." We sat in a new railroad station and discussed our experiences taking the overnight train in various locales. A good time was had, in the name of planning.

Evening. Bad TV was watched, including the New NEW Twilight Zone. Oh, Ione.

Thursday, 3 Oct___

Brunch. Cat came by to take me out for pizza at Arizmendi and ask me to edit her residency-application essay (she's hoping to practice orthopedic surgery). So I did. My fabulous life. We talk for a moment about how this commercial area is full of people midmorning on a weekday and each realize that we'd assumed that just about everyone works an office job. They could be police, we said, or professors, or freelance tech workers, or unemployed tech workers, or just well off. So many non-9-to-5 options!

Art Opening. The California Council for the Humanities is sponsoring a big push through local libraries around the state to get people to read and discuss The Grapes of Wrath. I'm down for it. The Oakland Public Library has assembled an odd suite of events around this project, one of which was a photography exhibit of the work of two black Oaklanders. The artists' reception was today, so seeing as I'm drawn to art + artists + free food, I gave it a look-see. There's something very tiresome about being surrounded by middle-aged pretentious-yet-aware white people at "ethnic" events, and I hope to God I don't ever become one of them.

Iyengar Yoga. My first class ever (thank you, free Club One membership!), and what did we attempt? Vertical splits. [Stand with your back against a wall. Lean forward until you can put your hands on the ground. Now put one of your feet up where your head just was. Easy, isn't it?] The terms "downward-facing dog," "sit-bones," and such have already enriched me.

Two Men, One Name. Coming home from yoga, I had a message from Rick and Ricky, my pals from the improv class I took last spring. Apparently they'd invited me to see a play with them and I'd never responded. Yes, this is another example of my horrible, horrible email habits.

Friday, 4 Oct___

Email Purge. I am so not done yet.

Hiking. My fellow D&B unemployee Heather and I went off to Tilden for an afternoon of hiking and merriment in the sun. When we met, she had spilled coffee on her shirt and I had cut myself while shaving. It's nice to start the day on even footing. I then proceeded to give her Very Bad Directions on the way to the park, getting us lost three or four times. We celebrated the day with Zachary's pizza, and it was good.

QYP. I went to the Queer Young Professionals group at the Pacific Center and listened to other people talk about not being certain about their jobs. Felt better. Had a couple of Snicker Doodles. Went out to Bison Brewing Co. afterwards and tried french fries seasoned with ginger (yum!).

Saturday, 5 Oct___

Fun. Spent the day riding rollercoasters with John, Mel, and Wayne at Great America, then went to see my absolute favorite immensely-desirable singer (and raving nutbar), Grant-Lee Phillips, at the Great American Music Hall with Marie. I did not notice the nominal coincidence until afterward. (Kristin Hersh and John Doe [from LA punk outfit X] also performed, and they were good.) Good day. Came home, watched the season finale of The Shield, slept happy.

Sunday, 6 Oct___

Mass. I've been aware for a while that I haven't been completely spiritually fulfilled by my life, and I've started taking steps to work on that. I went to reconciliation for the first time in...oh, six years? and poured out my confusion and frustration. I'm trying to go to Mass more often now, to get back into the swing of regularly taking time to reflect, to ask for help, to face other people who believe in something. So we're getting through the homily (normally the midpoint, for those of you keeping score at home) and I'm not feeling well. Kind of dizzy. Maybe I should go. No, I'll stick it out. Oh, wait, what's going on? A baptism? Shit. For twins. Mother of mercy. Maybe I'll stay for the Prayers of the Faithful. Maybe the Lamb of God. I'll just slip out after the Eucharist. Ahhh, transubstantiated wine and bread. I can wait for the Closing Prayer. Or the Sending Hymn. Oh, look, I'm still here. I'll just swing by Albertson's on my way home. Whew! Finally home. What time is...oh, crap! It's after 1 already? I have to be at the Castro Street Fair (estimated travel time: 45-60 minutes) at 2!

*Castro Street Fair. Volunteered for the Harvey Milk Institute. Stood at the gate, yelling "Three dollar donation! Gets you a dollar off all drinks all afternoon! Benefits 23 community organizations!" (If Joe Public donates, he gets a sticker to present at the drink booths. Simple. Fun.) Of course, that gets pretty boring over the course of three hours, so I added some other stuff to see if people were paying attention.

"I don't know how else to love you!"
"Because puppies shouldn't have to die!"
"Little Timmy's operation was going so well!"
"It hurts me not to yell!"
"I'm single, unemployed, and I live in Oakland!"
"Exposed midriff tax!"
"Three dollars gets you a dollar off all drinks, a classy orange sticker, and brief but satisfying human contact!"
"I refuse to believe you can just walk on by, you heartless hussy!"
and so on.

Some got it, smiled, and plunked money in the bucket. Time passed more quickly. Perhaps someone will remember me for my wit and squire me away to an enchanted new life.

*After Party. When I finished my volunteer shift, the fair was almost over. I moseyed about for a bit, then stopped to consider whether to head home. (It's Sunday night! There is good TV to be watched!) The moment I was about ready to get up and go, I ran into Bret and Brian: more friends from the improv class (and a damned cute couple). They invited me into a bar with them for drinks. I was a little reticent, since I don't really do bars, and they're a couple, and it would be awkward, but...what the hell. Two of their other friends (whom I also thought were a couple [fifth wheel alert!], but thankfully weren't) were there as well. I tried to strike up conversation with the less friendly-looking one (because I love a challenge?) by commenting on his resemblance to a certain movie star....

First lesson: Being physically likened to John Malkovich is not universally considered a compliment.

Oh, well. Conversation at a standstill. Maybe I'll just make my way over to the bathroom for a minute....

Second lesson: drunk guys in a crowded bar setting will seize on any defining characteristic (say, wearing a fishing hat [I was standing in the sun for three hours earlier, if you'll recall] or... having a butt) to touch you while you're passing by. (Yes, this is a new lesson; I normally never get hit on. Don't know why; never bothered me.)

I come back over to where my group is and sit down. The guy on the other side of me (we'll call him E) begins chatting immediately. We discuss the economic plight of Humboldt County's working class (he lives there; I was just recently working on the County's General Plan)...

Third lesson: Apparently, one can make small talk out of anything.

...and E tells me about how his friend F (who was in the bathroom at the moment and whom I had thought was attractive until seeing him up close) gets violent when he's drunk because he's Native American...

Fourth lesson: I will never be amazed at people's capacity to spout prejudicial non sequiturs.

...and eventually guesses that I am 32 years old. Later, after E and F leave and I am talking to G and H (other strangers)...

Fifth lesson: Though besically meek and introverted, I grow emboldened in bar settings and can draw strangers to my side for conversation.

...they guess 28 and 36....

Sixth lesson: Bad lighting and drunken interlocutors can make this 24-year-old feel much, much older than he needs to.

H (an architect/urban designer) and I talk about his hometown, my vision of an urban services nightmare: New Orleans...

Seventh lesson: Fine. Everything always comes back to urban planning. This is why I need time off.

...and throughout the conversation he makes highly unsubtle attempts to paw at me...

Eighth lesson: I really need to put my foot down harder, sooner.

...and blames it on being drunk....

Ninth lesson: Bullshit.

Bret, Brian, Mike (Malkovich), and I all claim to want to head for home, then wander over to another bar, where we have a rather engaging debate about Kate Bush, Tori Amos, and Parker Posey. The night ends. I have consumed one beer and some ketchup-smothered fries, and I am quite relaxed as I take Muni to BART to the downtown Oakland taxi stand....

Tenth lesson: Taxis are addictive.

Monday, 7 Oct___

*DMV. I had made an appointment to get a replacement driver license, since (a) I've tried fruitlessly to update my address via internet and by mail, with no results, (b) I'm tired of having to show a picture of me-at-16-years-old to ID-checkers, who squint and stare at me to establish a resemblance, and (c) it's preferable to doing any grad-school/career/cleaning work at home. I take a bus to the DMV, which I'm sure has a vein of irony shot through it somewhere, but let's not dawdle.

As I'm sitting on the bus, the man in front of me puts his elbow atop the back of the seat next to him and scratches the back of his head with his (rather long) nails. Right in my face is a...giant wound--like someone stuck a meat cleaver between his radius and ulna and the resulting damage is just too wide to even consider stitching up. Of course I stare. It's grotesque, but not crippling. Suddenly, he turns around and asks "Do you have the time?" (It's 11:15.) He reeks of alcohol and sweat (I notice a paper-bagged bottle of something-or-other in his lap) and I wait for him to disembark. (The smell!) Thankfully, he does...but one stop before me. I get off and walk toward the DMV. At the last moment, I turn and see him lumbering toward the building. I feel weird.

After I take care of business, I head for the bus stop (preparing to go home at fix myself a nice, cheap unemployed lunch), then notice the Temescal Branch Library not 100 feet away. I capriciously make it a mission to see all the Oakland libraries in the near future, then head inside. Later, I wander out, sit of the bench, and crack open The Grapes of Wrath (you know already). A large form sits down on the bench next to me. "Do you have the time?" Same oddly singsong voice. (It's just after noon.) I can't look at him. When the bus comes, I make it a point to sit in a row not directly behind any open seats. I feel weird.

Afternoon. Watched TV and laid on the floor. It's so good.

Yoga. Went again. Much easier routine this time. Could see myself doing this more often.

Recursive? Spent the evening thinking about my week and sketching this thing.
peachy as always, Mike at 3:48 AM

 
Unemployed: the First 4 Days

2 long-lost friends (one from college, one from elementary school*) bumped into on street
5 videos rented**
2 street fairs (one a family-friendly celebration of all things Berkeley; the other an unfamiliar celebration of all things leather/fetish+) attended
3.25 episodes of The Shield marathon (on FX) watched
3 trips to Berkeley
3 trips to San Francisco
5 books checked out of library++
1 very weird episode wherein I am lying on a massage table (covered only by a low-riding white sheet) and the masseuse suddenly asks, "Are you married?"#
10 appointments/meetings/events added to personal calendar
5 callers Saturday night
5 callers Sunday night
200 old emails deleted
1 package of salmon jerky purchased
4 hours spent biking
1 wedding shower missed
0 weekly chores completed


* (!)

** including Office Space, which has (if nothing else) validated (again) my decision to take that job and shove it

+ Yes, I volunteered. No, I'm not into "that stuff."

++ 3 about graduate education, 2 about travel in Mexico

# remainder of conversation:
Me [dry throat, scratchy voice]: Uh...no.
She [smiling craftily]: Took you a minute to respond, I see.
Me: I'm gay.
She: Oh. [pause] I just thought you were attractive.
peachy as always, Mike at 12:00 AM